Much Ado About Body Language
by Coconabanana
Summary: The thing about spoken language, in Alfred's perspective, was that it was so overrated. Arthur/Alfred.


**Title**:: Much Ado About Body Language  
**Fandom**:: Axis Powers Hetalia  
**Character(s)/Pairing(s)**:: Arthur Kirkland (England)/Alfred F. Jones (America), in that order.  
**Rating**:: NC17.  
**Warning**:: sex, sap, strange writing. There.

**Beta'd by**:: my partner in sin and crime; Expresso Latteand yes, I consider you my beta-reader as well, slashy_lady (of DnKs Girls). You both saved my life. 3  
**Summary**:: The thing about spoken language, in Alfred's perspective, was that it was so overrated

**A/N**:: Written for kotakia for the usxuk Secret Santa Exchange 2009 at LiveJournal. The prompt I chose being: _'Anything UKxUS. There's not enough seme!England out there. Extra bonus love points if there's some smut'_. I took the prompt and ran away with it. And there's actually a lot of smut. But this was my first time writing full blown sex. Pardon me if I fail. ;D And seriously, the title is so randomly taken I think I might have failed on giving good title for my story for the first time. OTL Also, sort of, kind of a follow up fic for slashy_lady's **Silent Language** (please do read it so you know what the story is about).

* * *

There was something about the way Arthur moved that captured Alfred's attention.

It was with the way his three fingers tracing the fair skin of his own neck down to his collarbone and the way Arthur's piercing eyes silently screamed at him the meaning of the gesture. It excited him, it made his skin tingled, and no, he definitely _was not_ afraid of it. He's the United States of America for fuck's sake! He was too awesome to feel fear over such a threat.

…Like that seemingly innocent gesture could even be called threat.

One thing that Alfred knew when he saw Arthur made that gesture and wearing that very infamous smirk (which could still make Antonio cry while muttering, "_my Armada, my Armada!"_ whenever he saw it) on his face, he should get away from the meeting room as quickly as his hero power could make it. No, Alfred didn't walk—he ran as fast as he could away from the meeting room as soon as the coffee break time commenced.

Alfred F. Jones never felt fear towards anything.

Alfred was the hero.

Alfred F. Jones was afraid of Arthur's threat-and that very smirk.

That smirk was a foreboding sign; one that Alfred had seen so many times when he was still a colony of the British Empire, and even more so when they had finally became lovers. It was a sign that Arthur was amazingly pissed, that Alfred was being a naughty boy, and there would be punishments. And Arthur was _very creative_ when it came to giving out punishments.

But still, there was something in that smirk of Arthur's that made Alfred felt somewhat… hot. And fuck, he was lying if that smirk wasn't the main reason why he ran—walked, walked away from the meeting, entered the nearest male restroom, and stayed there for the rest of the coffee break time. He had to rid himself of his uncomfortable tightness in his pants after all.

Alfred had to admit that, yes, he was—maybe, just maybe— a masochist. What with the way his stomach churned whenever Arthur threw him predatory glances, or the way he felt his cheeks flared whenever he saw Arthur bit his nails, licked his third finger, and then _innocently_ threw him that smirk. And _dear fucking __**god**_ let's not forget how a simple profanity like 'fuck you!' that's coming out of those thin lips made the blood went straight to his cock.

Somehow, it amazed Alfred how such simple gestures from Arthur could make him feel a thousand emotions.

Alfred felt fear coursing through his whole body when he saw Arthur stood in front of his hotel room, hands inside his pockets and looking up to the ceiling. The fear changed into that of confusion when Arthur smiled at him, in the most innocent and dangerous way. Alfred mentally took note that he had to ask how Arthur managed to do that. Confusion changed into surprise when Arthur yanked Alfred's tie, loosened it up, took it off his neck, and used it to cover his eyes after taking Texas off in one, swift move.

He could not see anything other than black, he could not feel anything other than Arthur's fingers tracing his neck, and no, he couldn't—or more like shouldn't—speak. Because the next thing that Arthur did, taking his hand, biting his third finger and licking it, took away his ability to speak off the roof.

'_You don't want to mess with me, boy. Because I'll fuck you hard enough to make you unable to walk tomorrow.'_

So Alfred did what he thought Arthur wanted him to do at the moment, play along. He didn't struggle when Arthur dragged him by the collar inside his room, he only let out a small 'oof!' when Arthur pushed him back to the bed, and only giggled when Arthur straddled his stomach, took of his jacket and practically ripped his shirt open.

But well, he was not Alfred if he didn't speak at the most inconvenient moment. "Hasty, aren't you?"

He heard a scoff. A cold hand suddenly made contact with his left cheek. It was a slap. And it stung. '_You insolent fool.'_

Alfred tried not to let out any reaction other than wincing. He felt Arthur's cold hand gripped his chin, felt hot breath ghosting above his lips, and then something soft pressed over his stinging cheek. Arthur was rubbing his cheek to Alfred's. And then there was a chaste kiss, wet tongue licking his cheek, another chaste kiss. And boy how that gesture made Alfred's stomach did a somersault.

_You're cute and I can't have enough of you.'_

He tried to turn his head to the left, he wanted Arthur's lips on his; he wanted to feel those hot lips on his own. However, it seemed like Arthur had another plan on his mind. Arthur blew hot air to Alfred's cheek—he's flushing, Alfred realised the hot breath just added more heat to the already flushed cheek—scraping his teeth on it, and then, instead of taking the his eager lips, Arthur's lips trailed butterfly kisses down his jaw line, to his neck, to his now exposed chest, and Alfred tried really, really hard not to shout God's name when it made contact with his sensitive nipple.

'_Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod…'_ chanted in Alfred's mind as Arthur's mouth working on one of those extremely sensitive part of his. _Contradictions be damned-ohfu—!_

He couldn't think clearly at the moment. He couldn't keep his legs straight when Arthur bit his nipple and pinched the other with his nimble fingers. He couldn't help but arch his back up when Arthur's other hand, that cold, and warm, and calloused hand, slipped inside his pants without any difficulties, and—_ohgodyestheretherethere_—grabbed his cock without any warning.

Alfred's hands then found their way to Arthur's head, combing through his soft sandy blonde hair, urging him to keep on moving, to not stop what he was doing. Because he liked it, he liked it when Arthur's wet tongue swirled around his nipple and his teeth bit it, when Arthur's hand stroked his cock under his constricted pants, scraping his nails on his clothed erection, and he wanted it off—his pants, not Arthur's hand.

It was painful, but god how he liked the feeling.

Fuck… perhaps he was indeed a masochist.

Then suddenly, it all stopped. Arthur slipped his hands out of Alfred's pants, stopped his ministrations to Alfred's nipple, and perhaps Arthur was pulling himself away from Alfred because he felt cold all of a sudden, and Alfred whined at the loss. He didn't know what Arthur was doing, what with the makeshift blindfold covering his eyes. So he pulled himself up, using his elbows for support, and opened his mouth to call Arthur.

"Arthur?"

He heard rustle of clothes, the bed dipped lower just between his legs, and a pair of hands landed on his shoulders, pushing him down. And suddenly, like a storm surging, washing away everything that was in its path, Arthur was kissing him square on the mouth, forcing it to open and pushing his tongue inside. It was hard, demanding, and hot, and wet, and everything felt like a blur to Alfred as he let Arthur bit his lips, nipping it, scraping his teeth on it until he thought the kiss tasted like iron. Blood.

Alfred blindly looking for something to touch, something where he could rest his hands other than the bed, he needed to hang on to something. And he found it, as he warped his arms around Arthur's neck, pulling his lover closer, lower, deeper to him, and he didn't and wouldn't want to let go.

There were moans, and groans, clashes of teeth, and all of it sounded like a melodious song to Alfred's ear. He didn't think, couldn't think because his brain had stopped functioning properly when Arthur, with the speed of light, popped the button on his pants off and unzipped it, and finally, _fucking finally_ took the damn thing off—that, and along with his boxers.

The cold conditioned air of the room hit his arousal head on. Alfred shivered, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden. There he was lying openly on the bed, without any clothes on and couldn't see anything because of the blindfold while there Arthur was, still ravishing his mouth until he could feel bruises forming, his hands touching and feeling and stroking every surface of his exposed skin.

The kiss was broken but their lips were still just a breath away, and Alfred wanted to take the blindfold off, to see Arthur's eyes, to see how he looked like at the moment. It was like the time had stopped moving again and the only thing that Alfred could hear and feel—he still couldn't see anything but black—was Arthur's and his ragged breaths.

Arthur chose that short moment to stop touching Alfred's body and start tracing, scraping his nails on Alfred's right arm. And Alfred moaned from the pain. He bucked up his hips when Arthur's lips started to trail where his nails were before and felt his cock twitched when Arthur kissed the back of his hand, like a prince greeting his princess.

'_You're beautiful…' _

Alfred's fingers trembled as Arthur licked them and kissed his palm.

'_And I want you to touch me…' _

And Alfred gulped down whatever thing that was stopping him from breathing properly when Arthur guided Alfred's hand to his cheek, kissing the palm again, before moving it down to his neck, his chest—so that what he was doing before, taking his clothes off, Alfred thought—and down, down, down, until Alfred felt his trembling fingers made contact with Arthur's hardened cock.

"You want me to—your—ohhhh…" and Alfred couldn't finish his sentence because Arthur's fingers were now wrapped around his cock. And it felt right, it felt good, and his head felt extra light as Arthur touching his cock, from the base to the tip, in such painfully slow strokes. And Alfred wanted more, more than just touching, and teasing, and stroking.

Arthur started to attack his mouth again, as if telling him to shut up. _You're not to utter any words_. Alfred complied. Not that he could speak at the moment. The only words coming out of his mouth were 'oh' and 'god' and 'yestheretheremore' and even Alfred couldn't really catch what he himself was saying because they were all mumbled in between gasps and moans and kisses.

Once again, Arthur trailed his lips down Alfred's body, stopping for a few seconds to bite his nipples and then slowly, kissing his way down to Alfred's cock where his hand still working on it. When Alfred felt Arthur's much familiar mouth engulfed his cock, he thought someone must have suddenly took his blindfold off because in front of his eyes, a myriad of colours exploded, washing away the darkness in an instant.

He tried to not jerk his hips up and start fucking that warm, hot, mouth of Arthur's. No, he had to restrain himself and just let Arthur do whatever he wanted. But it was getting harder to control himself, and _ohfuck, ohdearfuckinggod_… he wanted to come so bad.

"Arthur-godpleaseplease-fuck me," Alfred moaned, biting his own hands to keep himself from shouting, or screaming, as Arthur kept on sucking his cock and licking the pre-cum dripping out of it. After a few more sucks, Arthur let go of the cock with a pop and then before Alfred could whine at the loss, he felt Arthur forcefully grabbing his much abused hand and started to lick the fingers again.

Arthur sucked them wet, trailing his tongue in between the fingers, and biting the wrist, and Alfred knew what would come next. Arthur guided Alfred's wet fingers down to his ass and silently ordering to finger himself, and Alfred had to bit his lips to stop himself from moaning again as he complied. He tried to relax his muscle as he pushed two fingers at once, scissoring and loosening it up. And he heard it, there, and he was sure of it, Arthur was gasping and though he couldn't see it, Alfred was sure Arthur was currently jerking himself off, if the warm liquid dripping on Alfred's leg was any indication.

When he felt that he was ready, Alfred pulled his fingers out and blindly looking for Arthur. He didn't need to actually, because the moment his fingers were out, Arthur had already guided his cock and thrust deep inside of him without a warning. Alfred groaned in pain and felt tears leaking out of his eyes. He wrapped his legs around Arthur's waist reflexively and heard Arthur's pleasured groan.

They stayed still for a moment or so, until Alfred felt the pain ebbed away bit by bit. When finally he got used to the pain, Alfred reached up to wrapped his arms around Arthur's neck and whispered, "Move, you bloody git," with a supposedly mocking British accent.

He felt Arthur buried his face on the crook of his neck and could feel his grin, or was it smirk? He didn't know nor care. All Alfred knew was that Arthur finally started to move and fucking him hard and fast and Alfred really liked it. Loved it, actually.

Because was something about the way Arthur moved that captured Alfred's attention. The way his body language told him many things that couldn't be expressed just from words alone.

The thing about spoken language, in Alfred's perspective, was that it was so overrated. Humans, and in his case, nations, could very well communicate without saying a word. And perhaps the most blatant example for such thing were times that those humans, again, in his case, nations, spent doing activities that should never be mentioned in anything rated below 'Adult Material'. Just like what was currently occurring now.

Arthur giving him butterfly kisses all around Alfred's face as he kept on thrusting in and out could very well mean, '_It's alright, it's alright, I am here.' _

Arthur smoothing Alfred's hair back while the younger of the two bit on his shoulder because of the pain, because of the pleasure, _because of Arthur fucking him_, just made Alfred feel _high. _

No, Alfred really didn't mind if Arthur proved to him that his gesture at the meeting—when he traced three fingers from his neck down to his collarbone—wasn't just a threat. Yes, he didn't mind even if Arthur had his way with him and fucked him until he couldn't speak or walk for a week.

Alfred was just a simple masochist after all.

Everything just went like a blur after that. The sound of their flesh slapping and colliding echoed into Alfred's ears. Alfred really felt like he was going to lose his ability to speak if Arthur's cock kept on hitting his prostate head on because it made him shout, moan, groan, and he still thought it wasn't enough. He needed to release so much and his own cock was weeping in abandonment.

The pleasure was nearly incalculable; Arthur's cock pushing in and out of him, his smooth skin—but there were scars; evidence of war and age and experience—under his hands. Hands… and speaking about hands… _fucking hell and heaven_, Alfred thought he might have lost consciousness with the way Arthur's hand finally started to jerk off his cock.

Their gasps, his and Arthur's, turned into series of groans. Alfred felt the sound reverberate in his chest, felt the other's body tensing, and knew he rode the same edge as Alfred did. One, two, three thrusts and Alfred felt Arthur came, shuddering with the force of climax that seemed to through him and into Alfred, building and building, until it was too much to take.

As such, the pleasure of being filled, Arthur's hand still touching and stroking his cock up and down slammed into Alfred like a fist; that powerful, that shocking, and he moaned loudly as he came, spilling the gap between his and Arthur's body with his cum. It was a storm of pleasure, drowning him in sensations that hummed through his very being in sharp, stinging currents. And it was both painful and unbearably good. Intense-almost perfect.

He was breathless, Alfred needed a few minutes to actually come back down from his high and thought he must have blacked out a little, only to realise that it was just the blindfolded still. He felt Arthur slumped down, equally breathless; he pulled his cock out and rested his head on Alfred's chest, ignoring the sticky cum on his stomach.

A few moments of silence later, the air only being filled with their still ragged breaths slowly calming down, Alfred felt Arthur moved and there were lips trailing up from his chest, to his neck—it stopped for a while, biting it, and marking Alfred—and up, up, until it reached his lips. It was just a few chaste kisses, nothing deep, or lustful.

Arthur was kissing his lips, his cheeks, his nose, his covered eyes and Alfred felt fingers combing through the back of his head. And then there was light, the blindfold—his silk necktie was damp with his sweat, he noticed—was off and he had to blink a couple of times to get used to it again.

He looked up and found a pair of doting green eyes looking at him. Those eyes seemed to speak a thousand words to him, then Alfred took a deep breath and managed to let out a husky, "Wow…", and Arthur grinned smugly at him for that. Alfred thought that he could be excused for saying that as his first response after his mind got its coherency back. Because that was surely, Alfred thought as he tried to calm his still raging heartbeat, one of the fucking most amazing fuck he had ever had in his fucking entire life; being blindfolded, _don't-speak-or-I'll-fuck-you-senseless_ rule and all.

Yes, Alfred was a hundred percent sure now, he _was_ a masochist.

"Dumb git, losing your ability to talk big now?" Arthur said as he plopped down on top of Alfred's body again and rested his face in between the crook of Alfred's neck and shoulder.

"Oh, so you can talk again?" was Alfred's response. It earned him another slap on the cheek—his other cheek—but it was soon followed by Arthur leaning up and rubbing his cheek against Alfred's, giving it a chaste kiss, and licking it for a good measure.

It was really endearing a gesture for Alfred, and it was also one of his favourites. In fact, almost each and every gesture that Arthur had in his body language dictionary, Alfred loved them. It was Arthur's own brand of communicating with him and only Alfred knew what they were and their meanings.

Arthur might had kept his mouth shut, he might have not uttered a single word during the entire ordeal, but his eyes speak volumes and the gestures he did were more than enough to let Alfred know those things that Arthur wanted to communicate with him. Their relationship was, perhaps, special indeed like how those people said.

Alfred needed no words to know what Arthur felt, what Arthur wanted to say, what Arthur thought of him. Their relationship had crossed the boundaries of time, war, age and even words.

And so, when Alfred felt Arthur wordlessly touched his chest, where his heart was, and glided his fingers over Alfred's lips, the younger man just knew what it meant.

Then he smiled—grinning, almost—and snuggled closer to his lover's neck, buried his nose there, and inhaled the faint smell of lily, sweat, and sex.

His only reply was catching Arthur's lips and whispered a mumbled, "…you too, kinky old man."

~Fin~

* * *

Endnote:: My sex scene sucks and so lemme go and hide myself behind a pebble. –sob- This was way bellow my usual standard but it was all I could came up with during a writer's block. Please throw anything if you think I really failed this time around. ;A;/

Here's hoping kotakia will love the end of product and won't be disappointed with it. I've tried (not really my best, because writer's block blocking the best of my ability, but) my hardest to make it a passable smut. But, if you think it's not good enough, I am willing to write another fic from your remaining prompts. –brick'd-

And a bunch of thanks (and hugs, and kisses, and roses) for slashy_lady and Latte for the endless support and saving me from disgracing myself. I don't even know what I'd do without you both. ;3;

Comments are definitely appreciated… like Arthur appreciates Alfred's butt. XD

PS: Cookies for those who can guess what the last gesture means. ;D


End file.
